Fear
by lrs-darkmuse
Summary: Certain assumptions are made about the nature of Orochimaru's relationship with Anko. Those assumptions are not necessarily correct. Not graphic, but rated T for subject matter, specifically the age difference between Orochimaru and Anko.


**Title:** Fear

**Pairing:** Orochimaru/Anko

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:**_ I do not own these Naruto characters and stand to make no profit from posting this story._

**Summary: **Certain assumptions are made about the nature of Orochimaru's relationship with Anko. Those assumptions are not necessarily correct. Not graphic, but rated T for subject matter, specifically the age difference between Orochimaru and Anko.  
><strong><br>Fear**

He lay on his sleeping pad in the forest, looking up at the stars, cold, unfeeling.

The stars were unfeeling, not Orochimaru.

Silver light gave his alabaster skin an ethereal sheen. Without his shirt he was chiseled marble in the moonlight. He wished that this were true, that his body was marble, but the thin flame burning underneath his skin reminded him that he was no statue and far too human. Despite forbidden jutsus and all his best efforts to the contrary he was still _far_ too human.

He rested on his back with one arm behind his head as a pillow, one leg flexed. He tried to still his breathing and achieve some sense of inner calm. He knew he'd been stalked this entire mission. He was used to being predator. He was not sure he cared to be the prey. All his senses were heightened, wondering if he would hear her or catch her scent first.

To his surprise he saw her outline, dim in the moonlight as she returned to him. No trace of scent or sound gave her away. This thrilled him even more, that he had trained her so well.

"Sensei?" came her whispered voice filled with concern and…something else. She knelt by his side. "Sensei, you're hurt."

"A scratch. Foolish. Carelessness on my part." He answered her but looked away.

"The rest are dead," she said in a matter of fact tone and he knew how efficiently she must have dispatched their enemies. "I brought water and I have some healing ointment…," her voice trailed off in the darkness.

He should do it himself, he knew. He should take the ointment and do it himself. That would be the wise thing to do, the _sane_ thing to do. His wound was superficial, a small laceration. He should do it himself.

But he didn't.

Anko gently brushed the wounded area with her fingertips and he felt lightning flare through every nerve ending and chakra point in his body. Orochimaru hissed, inhaling sharply as she washed the tender flesh at his ribs with a wet cloth. He hissed sharper still as she lay the cloth aside and dabbed at the cut with salve on her fingertips. Anko whispered _'sorry_' but Orochimaru could tell from the glint of satisfaction in her eyes that she _knew_ he would have inhaled just as sharply no matter _where_ her fingers touched him.

She set the jar of salve down beside him, her body hovering over his. Anko dared to let her right hand glide up to his hip and rest there, halfway on his skin halfway on the fabric of his hakama.

She held his gaze with her own, her brown eyes daring. He felt the fingers of her hand at his hip slither beneath the waist band of the hakama. He quivered then, and knew she could feel it through the palm of her hand at his waist as her fingers traced on down the line of dark hair below his naval. His fear made her giddy, it was intoxicating to her to know that she held this much power over her sensei in this moment. Anko licked her lower lip and it made him shiver again.

He should push her away. He knew it. He tried to say it but there was a knot in his throat and he couldn't get the words out. He straightened his left arm that had been serving as his pillow and encircled the wrist of her right hand with his fingers. He should push her away. He should break her wrist for her impudence. But, instead, he found himself pulling her hand up to his shoulder. His own right hand was at her hips, holding her as she slid astride him. She snaked her left hand up to his other shoulder. She sat atop him, satin thighs on either side of his waist, one hand on either shoulder. Anko smiled, awash in the power of the fear in his eyes.

He knew she had attained menarche precisely one hundred days ago. Manda had told him he smelled blood. One hundred years ago she would have been considered of a marriageable age. Now, she was just as forbidden as another Forbidden Jutsu.

He licked his own lips. Chocolate eyes. Velvet touch. Satin skin. Of such things, Orochimaru discovered he was afraid. He was very afraid.


End file.
